Broken Moonlight
by Lumionessence
Summary: No secret can remain hidden forever. LM/HG. Hurt/Comfort. EWE.
1. Fractured

**I wish you all a very happy and safe New Year. My motto right now is "New Year, New Decade, New Changes." I'm going to be moving in February, but in the meantime, I've found a few minutes here and there to begin polishing up a couple of unpublished WIP's I've had sitting here for the last year. I've updated my Bio page to reflect the status of projects I have ongoing. ****I tried to do the "stick to one until it's done," it just didn't work for me. I realize the beginning of this one is quite short, but bear with me, it's fully outlined and plotted with some specific scenes later on already written, I just have to weave them together. **

**As always, not beta read, so concrit is kindly received if kindly given.**

**Disclaimer: All things Harry Potter are not mine.**

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**Chapter 1: "Fractured" **

"Darling,  
you lost the moon  
while counting the stars."

-Unknown

Hermione lay on her bed in the gathering darkness, oblivious to the shadows creeping across her ceiling as night fell. Her eyes unseeing, silent tears slipped down the side of her face. She had known better than to trust him with her heart. Had known that, eventually, he would shatter it. But she was stubborn, had thought perhaps she might be his salvation. If she could redeem _him_, it would be proof enough that love, indeed, could conquer all.

She stirred when she heard the sound of someone coming through the floo. Moments later, Ginny appeared in her bedroom, took one look at her and sighed.

"Just like that, then?"

Hermione gave a slight nod, her eyes still fixed to the ceiling above her bed.

"I can't say I'm surprised, but I'd hoped, for your sake."

"Thanks, Ginny." A hint of sarcasm laced the dull, flat tone of her words.

The bed dipped as Ginny sat down beside her, a slender hand moving across Hermione's vision as the redhead tucked a wet curl away from her face. "You want to talk about it?"

"Not really."

Ginny hummed her acquiescence as she kicked her shoes off and lay down beside her. The minutes passed in silence with Ginny combing her fingers through Hermione's hair in slow, soothing strokes.

Finally, Hermione spoke. "How did you know?"

"He sent an owl, asked me to look in on you."

Hermione sighed at this, a fresh wave of silent tears spilling down her face as she rolled onto her side, facing away from Ginny. The pain in her heart deepened, the cracks widening even more at this last caring gesture, even after he'd broken her heart. She stared out the window, where the glint of stars shone brightly against the velvet blackness of night.

"I have to take a trip to America next week to make arrangements for the team. You should come with me, a little distraction wouldn't hurt," Ginny murmured, spooning up behind her and drawing her into a comforting embrace.

Hermione nodded once, then, "Stay with me tonight, Gin? I don't think I could bear to sleep alone."

"All right, just let me floo Harry."

Hermione closed her eyes, squeezing Ginny's hand in gratitude as she tried to subdue the pain of her shattered soul.

~*O*~

7 Years Later...

It was the night of his 28th birthday, and Draco was enjoying himself immensely. Or at least he was until Zabini leaned over and whispered:

"Bloody hell, mate, isn't that Granger?"

Draco looked at Blaise, his brow furrowed before turning from the bar to follow his friend's line of sight to where a petite brunette with long silky curls had just appeared on-stage to a boisterous round of catcalls and applause. She stood with her back to them, hand on the pole that dominated the centre stage, the sequins on her barely-there costume glittering as she waited for her cue.

The house lights dimmed to almost nothing as soft music wound its way into the atmosphere, leaving a single, muted spotlight shining directly above her. Thick swirls of synthetic fog began to creep over the stage, and as the deep pulse of heavy bass split the ambience, the rest of the stage lights came up, a riot of colour that spun in a kaleidoscopic display reminiscent of a mirror ball. And in the midst of it all, the girl on stage had begun to dance, her hands sliding provocatively down her body as she moved to the sensual beat.

With an agile swing upward, she gripped the pole between her thighs, grinding seductively against the vertical rod as if it were a lover. Working her way up its length, she began a slow spin, letting her upper body fall slowly backwards until she was virtually upside down. Her hands slid over her body in a sensual caress, coming to rest on her breasts, fondling them lightly, playfully, her plump red lips open as if she were in the throes of sublime ecstasy. And then she opened her eyes, the familiar amber orbs deeply accented by smoky shadow and lined with kohl.

Draco swallowed, his cock twitching in his trousers. She was fucking stunning, but there was also no doubt that she was, indeed, Hermione Granger.

"Gorgeous, yeah?" The bartender, a slim middle-aged muggle with a moustache, slid their drinks over the bar. "Could watch that one all night."

"She here every night?" Blaise asked, enraptured by the sight.

"Nah, just moonlights on weekends these days. She's got too much spirit and too many brains to get stuck in this life."

Draco snorted inelegantly. "You have no idea."

The bartender raised a shaggy brow and then raised a finger to point at him. "You an ex?"

Draco leaned against the bar. "Nah, mate, we went to school together. We didn't exactly hang out, wasn't my type. Always wondered what she got up to, though."

The bartender relaxed somewhat at that, returning to wiping down the bar. "She may not be here often but she's still a club favourite. You just watch yourself where that one is concerned, but I have a feeling you already know that."

Blaise couldn't contain his laughter and clapped Draco on the shoulder. "That we do, mate, that we do," he replied. Draco grinned sheepishly in response.

The bartender gave them a speculative glance before moving off to serve his other patrons. Now and then, however, Draco caught him casting a wary eye toward them as they watched Hermione finish her routine and exit the stage.

Draco gave Blaise a thoughtful look. "Think it's about time we tried out a different establishment, yeah?"

Blaise nodded. "A good idea. What do you want to do about him?" Blaise motioned his head ever so slightly in the bartender's direction. "He seems unusually skittish."

Draco swirled the last dregs of his drink around in his glass and tossed it back before setting it on the bar. "Memory charm. He doesn't need to remember we spoke and there's no reason to spook Granger yet. C'mon, I feel like getting shagged. My cock hasn't stopped twitching since she started dancing, and that's far more disturbing than you realize."

Blaise shook his head, a bemused grin on his face as the two of them slid off their barstools. Passing by the bartender, Draco waved farewell and fingered his hidden wand, a small incantation leaving his lips.

As they left the club, Blaise hailed a cab to take them to their next destination. Settling in the back of the car, Draco found himself inordinately pleased. His decision to spend his birthday barhopping in the US had just turned up a very interesting and unexpected development. There were certain persons back home who would be _very_ interested in knowing just where Wizarding Britain's golden girl had turned up.

He grinned.

Tomorrow he had a letter to write.

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**Don't ask me where this came from, I've forgotten. *lol* I do know it lacks my usual finesse, but I've been experimenting.**

**~*~ Lumionessence**


	2. Deliverance

**This is sort of a dark chapter for this story. More will be revealed as we go along, but I assure you that it will be HEA. **

**This chapter deals with alcoholism, but I'm not sure it's written in such a way that it would qualify as any sort of trigger.**

**As ever, suggestions and concrit are kindly received if kindly given.**

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**Chapter 2: "Deliverance"**

_"Hello darkness,  
__my old friend  
__I've come to talk  
__with you again."_

-Sound of Silence

Lucius Malfoy was a man who knew he'd made many grave mistakes in his life. Beaten down by his choices, his failures, and then the final, crushing weight of his guilt as he nearly lost his only son because of them, he'd broken.

Narcissa, bless her, had tried to hold them together, tried to lift him out of the drunken abyss he'd permanently fallen into post-war, but in the end, it had proven too much for the pureblood witch to cope with. Bound to her family by nothing more than loyalty, duty, and the love of her son, she endured as much as she could. It was more than she should have.

Her attempts to rouse him were met with violent outbursts fuelled by the animosity of his self-hatred, until the night Lucius had physically struck her. He couldn't even remember why, but he'd never forget the look of shock that twisted her nearly flawless features. It was the last straw. With his mark upon her cheek, she uttered the words that tore their marriage vows asunder. And then, with his marriage broken as well, he'd fallen even deeper into the pit of his self-loathing, drowning himself in useless regret and the comforting burn of an endless supply of firewhisky. If it killed him, it was nothing less than he deserved, probably more than. And so it was his way, for several long months.

Until her.

Draco had been desperate. Watching his father waste away to little more than a thin, hollow husk of his former self was somehow worse than seeing the frightened, dishevelled excuse of a man he'd been when he was retrieved from Azkaban during Voldemort's reign of terror. His son knew it was time for desperate measures, was willing to do whatever it took, even if it meant driving a wedge between them for the rest of their lives. Lucius needed intervention, their family—what was left of it—needed help, and Draco refused to give up. Malfoy's survived. It had been drilled into him since birth.

Lucius scrubbed at his face with his hand, as if the action would banish his thoughts. The memories were strong tonight due, he knew, to the small glass of wine he'd allowed himself. It was all he would allow himself. Sipping lightly from the glass, he contemplated the decanter of flame-coloured liquor atop the mantle. Although he'd sworn off firewhisky, he kept it there, a stark reminder that he'd nearly sold his soul a second time, this time to a master who was as hell-bent on his own destruction as he'd once been of hers. A master nearly as dark and insidious as the first: himself.

The road to recovery had been a grim affair. No one would even step foot on the grounds much less give a damn about whether its master lived or died. He didn't blame them. They had every right to despise him, to look down their noses at his misfortunes the same as he'd once done to them. It was poetic justice, really, but Draco still refused to give up. Damn that boy. Even after everything he had been made to suffer, somewhere, somehow, Draco had learned the true meaning of humility.

And then she came.

Not with pity, but with an empathetic heart did she come to the manor, surprising not only him but nearly all of wizarding Britain. The last person on earth anyone would have expected, who should have thought twice about returning to the scene of her persecution and debasement, had come to save a man who had never once shown her an ounce of respect. At last, he knew true courage, and in that was he finally, truly shamed.

Still, he lashed out her. "Get away from me, you dirty, filthy, mudblood cunt!" he'd screamed at her. Or tried. His voice came out as little more than a hoarse rasp.

"Then get your stinking arse in the bloody bath you vile, pretentious, pureblood twat, or so help me I will _incarcerous_ you and drop you in myself!"

"You wouldn't dare!" he'd hissed, his hold tightening on his bottle of firewhisky as if it would help steady the familiar lurching of the landscape as he searched for his wand.

"Watch me!"

And she'd done exactly that. Two flicks of her wand and a levitate later found him spluttering in his bath, still fully clothed with hands and feet bound, staring after her backside in a sort of stunned stupor.

"You're welcome!" she singsonged back at him, the presumptuous chit. Another flick of her wand and the bottle of firewhisky in his hand had vanished along with the ropes that bound him.

Lucius chuckled quietly at the memory, inhaling deeply as he drew from the cigar in his other hand. Leaning his head against the back of his favourite chair, he watched the fragrant plumes of smoke curl into the air above his head as he exhaled.

If he'd thought to die a fool's death was his best worst-case scenario, he'd been wrong. Detoxification was worse. In those dark hours, he was sure she was an avenging goddess, driven to ensure his last days were spent in a never-ending cycle of pain and torment. He swore she took delight in aggravating his suffering, but those first days were the hardest.

His body reacted violently to the purging and the potions. Cold sweats, tremors, and vomiting were the least of his symptoms, yet she never left his side, even when Draco was there. When the delirium hit, she'd suffered nearly as much as he did, helpless as his body seized in the throes of his nightmares, stoic as they held him down to administer Dreamless Sleep, and gracious in the awkward moments he would mistake her for Cissy. And still, she'd lay beside him, crooning nonsensical lullabies and stroking her hand through his hair until his body calmed and his mind soothed. Then, exhausted and wanting for sleep, she would curl up beside him, not realising she was changing him simply by placing her trust in him while she slept.

In the dark hours of the night, he would contemplate her, baffled by her strength and will to persevere. And finally, as if a veil had been lifted, he began to see. In the space of a few short months, she'd done what no one thought possible; pulled him from the deepest, darkest pit of anguish and brought him face to face with his guilt each time she looked at him. Until one day he said:

"What have you done to me, witch?"

She'd smiled, but there was a sadness in her whisky-coloured eyes as she replied.

"Taught you humanity, Lucius, I hope."

And there it was. The death of all he had been taught to believe of himself and others. In that moment, he knew he could never think of her as anything 'less than' ever again.

He stubbed out his cigar and tossed the rest of his wine to the fire, watching the flames cough and sputter, crackling loudly into the quiet study. Moments later, the remaining embers began to smoulder, briefly turning green as it spat a small piece of parchment into the air, charred at the edges. Lucius reached out to snag the scrap as it floated carelessly near him. His sharp intake of breath was nearly painful as he read the two words scrawled onto the parchment.

"Found her."

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_Chapter posted 1/3/20_


End file.
